


playing god

by nuntears



Series: goretober 2019 [1]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Abuse, Amputation, Blood and Gore, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Goretober 2019, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Medical Kink, Other, Psychological Torture, Restraints, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 08:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20871215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuntears/pseuds/nuntears
Summary: day 2 and day 3: acid and amputation-not everyone sano brought home was perfect. some were just a practice round, for the real thing. some were just test subjects and nothing more.you were too feisty for his tastes, but meat is meat.





	playing god

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rotpeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotpeach/gifts).

> crossposted from tumblr! you can find the fic originally [here](https://nuntears.tumblr.com/post/188091282497)

the human body is more durable than you had ever known. 

in a previous life, before you had come into the care of sano kojima, the worst pain you had known was a broken arm, some sprains, some heartbreak. now you’ve learned that until this point, you didn’t really know what pain was. it all hurt so much you thought it would kill you. his tests, his probing, his cold demeanor as he caused you more pain than you ever thought you deserved. you were so sure each time that it’d be the end of you, but you were proven wrong each time.

the human body is durable; the mind however, can only take so much.

you remember: the first moment of waking up on this metal examination table in this small, dark clinic. when he had said with such apathy and sureness that you were going to be experimented on and that ultimately, you would die. you didn't want to believe it. you had yelled at him, screamed and pulled against your bindings until you felt the burn of the leather buckles. until all you could do was shake.

he watched you with a cold stare as you spat your words and kicked and screamed. once you calmed down he took out a small syringe and filled it with a clear liquid. he gave it a small few flicks to get rid of the bubbles, he spoke looking at the needle, not at you.

“i hope you got that all out of your system. because next time i will not be as forgiving for such rude behavior. you’re my patient now, and if you cause too much trouble, i’ll just find a new one.”

as he injected you with the unknown substance, you were scared. in this state of saturated panic you were in, he planted a thought. for the first time in your life, you were replaceable. 

and this was when it started. your new life and understanding. one can only stop being human once one believe it themselves. 

*

you’ve been here a few days now. two, maybe three, impossible to actually tell. he seemed like he was getting stuff out of the way. figuring out your allergies and other information about your medical history, since you had refused to tell him anything. it was ultimately uneventful. 

but today, he walked in determined. he didn’t say a word, he never does, but his silence was heavier today. you could tell by the air, something was off. he adjusted the lights above you, washed his hands, prepared his medical tools.

then he pulled out a knife. you go rigid. you started to shake your head.

“hey, hey. wait, don’t.” you pleaded but it was too late. 

he sliced your arm open. 

“please!” you scream, the emotion in your voice almost obscuring the word but you’re sure he knows what you’re saying. you look at him in desperation. “god, please i’ll do anything, just stop!”

he had sliced a clean line along your forearm, his face is as blank as always. you shakily fight against the restraints.

“are you even listening to me?” your scream is so shrill it rings in your own ears. echoing in the otherwise quiet room. “please, god, it hurts please i’ll be good i’ll do whatever pleasestop” you words melted together as you shrieked and dug your nails into your palm. you tried to focus on the sting in your palms instead of your raw forearm.

finally he removes his hands, leaving the new gaping wound. you breathe out heavily as you pant and try to collect yourself. you look at him for what horrible thing he’ll do now. 

he reaches for his clipboard, and begins to study your arm. you stare at him in shock. “what the fuck are you doing? you’re some kind of monster.” you spit. he ignores you as he uses the end of his pen to widen the wound, leaving you to scream and thrash in pain as a result, he quickly takes note of this. 

* 

“i have some serums i’ve been working on that i want to test” he says, walking away from you and towards his cabinet full of bottles and vials. you try to raise yourself from the examination table as much as the restraints allow, following his movements, and craning your neck to get a look at him.

“what the fuck does that mean?” you say bitterly. he doesn’t flinch or give any other indication he even heard you. you hear the snapping of gloves, and the sound echoes and rings in your head. anxiety begins creeping over you.

“it means that i will inject you with this” he holds up a syringe for you to see. “and you -- to your best abilities -- will tell me it’s effects on you.” he begins walking back to you and you wait until he’s right in front of you before speaking, straining to lean as close to him as you can. 

“i don’t want to tell you shit, you psychopath.” you growl, baring your teeth.

suddenly his hand is on your forehead and the crown of your skull collides with the metal. you close your eyes to try and clear your head from the shock of it. fighting the dull ache that pulses from the point of impact. 

“don’t you understand it’ll be easier for us both if you cooperate.” there’s no edge in his voice but there’s no kindness either. you’re unnerved by his outburst, how he could shift from calm to violent in a matter of seconds. you hope it doesn’t show.

his hand doesn’t move from your forehead, the latex presses into your skin. he brings the syringe to your neck and the second you see it you begin to struggle again. his grasp stays firm. from the glimpse you had gotten you saw the substance looked green, thick. you feel the crown of your head grinding into the table with how hard he’s holding you. 

the needle pierces you and the suddenness has it immediately hurting more than any shot you’ve ever had in your life. he begins injecting you, and you feel the gush of whatever was in the syringe enter your body from the side of your neck. it’s too thick, whatever he’s pushing into you. you can feel it under you skin and it’s tight and it burns. you gasp deeply. your eyes are wide and you stare directly into the light he had fixed over you. you’re so focused on the pain and making sense of this new sensation you don’t even notice him removing the needle and taking a sidestep away from you. the feeling morphs as the mystery substance starts disintegrating and moving within you. the burning blossoms from where he had injected you initially. you arch your back from the pain, your eyes blown wide and seeing absolutely nothing. mouth open and with no sound coming out. your every thought being occupied by the burning, that’s now moving and crawling over your shoulders. 

your fingers twitch frantically, you’re overwhelmed with the need to anchor yourself onto something. you grab the first thing you feel, which is sano’s arm. you gripped him, the pads of your fingers digging, wrinkling his crisp white lab coat. he didn’t scold you, he allowed you to ride out the wave of pain, using him as an anchor. 

the consuming pain fades, leaves you with a lesser one that allows you to scream and thrash. this is when he pulls his arm out of your grasp, he doesn’t rip it away like you’d expect. it was almost delicate. through the pain you think he might have some humanity in him after all. he reaches for his clipboard and records your reactions.

“tell me, what did it first feel like when i injected you?” your eyes snap to him, wide and beady, and you open your mouth to curse at him but all you can do is scream in pain. he takes note and tsks. 

*

his mannerism, the blood, the pain, him standing and watching you. taking notes. it had become your reality. and to live like this, it made you believe that your purpose was to help some sick med student make some groundbreaking discoveries. you were born to die, and die in pain.  
day after day, he would be trying something new with you. body modification, new stitching technique, ointments he’s conducted.

all while taking notes. you hated it the most when he did that. the pain made sense, but it always managed to shock you how he could do something so terrible with a straight face and then record it in detail. the silence that followed was always heavy to you, but you could tell it meant nothing to him. 

it was always like that. nothing touched him. not your fingers. not your looks. not your suffering. not the tension in the air. he felt nothing for you. and it gets to you. he was all you knew now, and he wasn’t capable of an ounce of pity. 

*

and then he decided to amputate you. 

(you wish he wasn't a doctor, so he wouldn't have debriefed you beforehand. so he wouldn't have sterilized the butcher knife in front of you.)

“please, god. please don’t do this, fuck. i’ll be good. i’ll do whatever. god jesus just please just” he’s not listening. he’s never listening. he continues speaking in a level tone. that knife looks so sharp, just staring at it, you feel the sting of the edge. 

(you wish he had sympathy; maybe then he wouldn’t look into your panicked and frantic eyes and say ‘let’s begin’, before dropping the blade on your shoulder.)

you scream so loud but it’s not loud enough. you want to scream louder, you want the pain your feeling to find its way to your voice and into this plane so maybe that’d spark something in him. 

(maybe his eyes would flicker down and he’d see what he’s doing to you.)

you dig your nails into your palm on your remaining hand, you scream and shut your eyes. you feel blood gushing out of where your shoulder used to be and even if it’s over you do not stop screaming. 

(maybe he wouldn't have paused between each limb, giving your body ‘time to rest’ before leaving you entirely limbless.)

your nails don’t leave your palm even as he waits for your shaking frame to calm enough to cut the next arm. you can barely even feel the nails in your palm over the burning ache in your shoulder. you can’t see it but you can imagine the image of it clearly. the bone, the open gaping veins, the pieces of muscles, the blood. he had said it was a clean cut. 

you look up at him, searching for anything close to sympathy on his face. he feels nothing.

you’re not sure how long he waited, but he walks over to the other side of you. 

“try to take a deep breath in,” he says, raising the knife. you do as he says. you tense. you don’t want to watch but the knife gleams under the operating light and you look instinctively, like a moth drawn to the flame. 

(you would rather he'd just come in, cut them off and be done with it. like ripping off a band-aid. 

but you don’t decide what happens to you anymore. in this new world you are a plaything and he is your cold god.)

he brings the knife down in one swift motion. you start screaming before it even hits. you feel your nails in your palm as it comes down and you continue to feel it even as your arm is no longer attached to your broken body. 

and then it truly hits you, what he had just done. you begin to thrash and kick, you roll your shoulders trying desperately to feel what was once there. shooting pain erupts throughout your body causing you to convulse further but you ride off it. you use it to fuel your movements. you thrash so hard you feel brushes of the still warm flesh of your arms that are still placed beside you. you scream. it still hurts it’s still fresh and it’s right there and it’s you but you can’t move them but you can still feel the nails in your palm. you curse at a god who isn’t listening. 

arching your back, legs tensed, arms detached. screaming so hard you can feel your throat becoming raw. tears pouring out of your face like a broken faucet.

he watches and he says nothing. as your tantrum continues, he pulls out a notepad and begins to record your reactions.

once he realizes you won’t calm down this time, he moves to your legs and proceeds regardless. 

you had never felt the same way once he had cut off all your limbs. he took more than just your mobility. he took something much more valuable.

*

he told you that this was practice, that he hoped one day, he will do this again, and it will be perfect. not only the operation, but the person he does it on. they will be perfect. 

he kidnapped you, tortured you, humiliated you. so it shouldn’t hurt so much hearing this. but it does.

knowing you are just the trial run, and that he is saving this perfection for someone else. that those compassionate gestures you think he's capable of under his cold exterior, will only ever be used on someone more worthy. 

when you slept that night, you cried, not only of the pain. but because even in the eyes of a sick, sick man who had become a cruel god to you, you weren't good enough. 

*

he turned to you as you heard the sizzle of your own flesh being eaten, separate from your body.

you watch your arm sink into the acid, in the plastic bin. he made sure it was within your line of vision, even with your new bindings around your neck and torso. you still feel as if you’re body is intact. you can stretch and curl your fingers and it feels so real until you look and see it’s not there. so you stare at your arm, and as you curl and uncurl your fingers, you think you see the fingers on the now foreign limb twitch. 

you don’t notice you’re crying until the tears have pooled and blur the vision of the eye pressed against the table. 

“you should be thanking me. i could have done this as easily while it was attached to you.” 

you expect him to laugh, because the only way that could make sense to you was as some morbid joke. as a statement made purely to torment you. but he meant it, he did think he was doing you some kind of kindness here. you stare at him.

“thank you.” you want it to sound like a question, like an accusation. but you haven't used your voice for anything other than begging and screaming and you've forgotten how to carry words like that. so instead it sounds soft and it cracks like you are going to cry. 

he nods, accepting your thanks, and continues to take notes as your arm disintegrates. 

the human body may be durable, but the human mind can only take so much. and he knew that too. 

*

the next morning, he wakes you by petting your hair. it's softly rouses you from sleep and when you finally wake you wonder how long he had been doing it. he looks at you with the most warmth you've ever seen in his eyes, with as much warmth you think he's capable. and with pity. 

only now, when you are pliant, weak, and limbless does he see your beauty. you want to smile.

but you realize as he looks over your wounds and your cried out eyes and the pain you wear on your face, he's not looking at you, he's looking at the person who will one day lay on this table and be his most perfect creation. 

and that's not you. you're the one before them, the practice round, the guinea pig. 

he speaks and it's as cold as always but he is still giving you that soft look.

“you've been very helpful for my research. it's been a pleasure working with you.”

you stare at him and understand ‘your body has nothing left to give me and this is where i am true to my word.’

he keeps his eyes on you as he reaches for a scalpel from his tray of instruments. 

he is quick, no debriefing this time because he must think it's obvious. but you had no idea until the blade met your neck, and you comprehended only when it had sliced across. leaving your throat open and leaking.

you try to reach up to cover it, stop the bleeding, pinch it closed with your fingers but you have no arms to do so. so you wither and spasm, trying to gasp but the air escapes from the new hole and you can feel it leave and you are begging him with your eyes to make it go faster, to grant you this one kindness. 

he watches you, all pity gone now. and he pulls out his notepad, and he begins taking notes.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on [tumblr](https://nuntears.tumblr.com/) for more goretober fics or to send requests for drabbles and headcanons !


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